Insomnia
by smashing
Summary: Mr. Todd can't sleep. ToddLovett
1. Chapter 1

Perhaps it was the weather. The day had been unseasonably warm, and now that the sun was retiring at last the entire city slumbered uneasily, stirring restlessly like a man plagued by dark dreams. The heavy air made cautious men imprudent; its influence drove sane men to caprice. Was it any wonder then that Sweeney Todd, who could hardly be called a sane man, was not immune to the touch of heat's fevered fingers?

Whatever the cause, there was little doubt that the barber was not his normally unflappable self. He reflected on this as he stared at the cold wood of the floor, scrubbing away the blood spattered upon it. It seemed he had been in a fury from the moment he woke this morning, enraged perhaps by the aftertaste of some nightmare whose details he couldn't recall. He wanted desperately to destroy something, to do something violent, anything that might unburden him of this corrosive passion that clawed so painfully at his chest. He had shouted at the boy Toby over some trifle, and then proceeded to slice open three customers, one after the other. There was the bright release of silver and crimson, the gratifying yield of the flesh beneath his hand, and for a few brief moments he would feel satisfied. Then the image of the Judge would swim sickeningly before him, and his anger would flare up again, redoubled. After the fourth kill of the day Mrs. Lovett had come up to tell him that she had quite enough meat, thank you, and he had responded- rather more forcefully than necessary- that she would just have to bake faster. It had been an exhausting day, and the stifling humidity did nothing to cool his temper.

_And now this, _he thought, pushing the sponge savagely across the sullied floor. He had been servicing what he had decided was to be the last customer of the day; it was growing dark out and he was growing weary. Just a quick snap of the wrist and this one would be neatly disposed of like all the rest. Dully, mechanically almost, he drew the blade across the man's throat.

Everything had happened rather quickly after that. Quite suddenly, a vision of Johanna- his Johanna- had risen unbidden before his mind's eye. She was beautiful, like her mother, with long wheat-golden hair and delicately pretty features. But her face was blackened and bruised and she lay on the filthy floor of a grim sepulcher of a building- a madhouse, he thought. Her beautiful eyes were screwed shut as she tossed unhappily, in the throes of some nightmare. The image wavered maddeningly before him, a mocking reminder of the hold that vile Judge still had over him and his family. The barber gave a strangled cry and his hand twitched involuntarily.

The blade slipped. The man in the chair took this opportunity to scream.

Sweeney clapped one hand over the man's mouth and used the other to slash at him with the razor, using his elbows to maneuver himself into a position to pin the struggling man down. In a few bloody minutes it was all over, leaving behind no permanent evidence other than a handful of frightened customers (for few people wanted hot pies on a day like this), and several dark stains on the floorboards. All the same, the messy encounter had left the shop sticky and red, and Mr. Todd in a fouler mood than ever. The untidiness of the thing was distasteful, somehow. Besides, he hated to be reminded that those soft, soft throats he carved with his razor belonged to creatures as alive as he.

Having mopped up the last drops of blood, he fairly collapsed as fatigue overtook him. _Revenge...revenge..._ the word whispered through his veins and thrummed at his temples. How much nicer it would be to be nothing at all, he mused wistfully, than to be Sweeney Todd. But always, always the vengeance-lust coursed like fire through his being, dangling purpose before him and goading him to live. He leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come, but tonight it seemed even this pale facsimile of death was to be denied him.


	2. Chapter 2

He rose to his feet with a groan, wearily rubbing at the back of his neck with one calloused hand. It came back sticky with perspiration. He paced the small room, back and forth like a caged animal. Idly he flicked the blade of his razor open and closed, open and closed, hands fidgety with restlessness and thwarted wrath and discontent. He just needed something to clear his head; a nice mug of ale, perhaps... He felt itchy all over. Aimlessly, he opened the door and stumbled his way down the stairs.

Halfway down he bumped into Mrs. Lovett, who was carrying a something up the other way. She gave a small shriek of surprise, and he jumped a little. He hoped she hadn't noticed.

"Mr. Todd! I was just coming up to check on you... I heard you pacin' about up there, and I thought some ale might help you sleep..." She offered him the bottle anxiously, searching his face for some sign of approval.

Damn that woman! How was it she anticipated his needs even before he was aware of them? He sighed, accepting her gift. Looking at the bottle now, he wasn't sure that he wanted it. Still, she looked so pleased at having pleased him that he took a few swigs anyway. "Thank you," he murmured.

"You're welcome, Mr. Todd, I'm sure." There was a pause and she looked at him expectantly, waiting to fulfill any other needs he might have. He briefly considered letting her guide him back to her room, yielding to her touch, drowning his frustrations in her own frustrated desire. On a whim he reached out, tracing his finger lazily along her jaw-line and down her neck, feeling her pulse quicken under his touch. It gave him a feeling of power, almost better than cleaving flesh and staining throats. All the same, he refused give in to her, if only for the sake of preserving the only pure thing left in his life.

He gave a harsh laugh at that, eliciting a startled jerk from Mrs. Lovett. As if there were anything pure about that woman! But there was, and he knew it. The way her eyes grew brighter any time she spoke of the sea; the exultant, unselfconscious way that she laughed; the expression of childish delight on her face whenever he dropped some token gesture of affection. He cherished her vitality (whether or not he cared to admit it), and to respond to her advances with a grotesque parody of love- the only kind of love he had left to offer- would bleed the life from her as surely as any razor. It was how he knew he would never succumb to her passion, no matter how much she might think she wanted it.

"Mr. Todd? Is something wrong?"

"No, Mrs. Lovett. I think- I just need to take a walk. Alone," he added quickly.

"Right you are, Mr. T. The night air should do you good."

"Goodnight then." He left her standing in the stairwell and tried to ignore the hurt in her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

The air outside was heavy, but tolerable; already the chill of evening was beginning to set in. A light breeze rushed through the London streets like a sigh of relief. In the milky afterglow of twilight the entire city looked like a dreamscape, everything so grey and soft and silent. It was with the air of a sleepwalker that Mr. Todd drifted over cobblestones that felt painfully familiar beneath his feet. His legs seemed to move of their own volition; Todd himself was too distracted to think about where he was going, and too exhausted to care.

At length he found himself standing in front of a stone bench and a small patch of grassy earth. Next to the bench stood a single oak tree, ancient branches stretched toward the sky as if in supplication. He recognized this place. He had been here before; or rather, a man very much like him had come to a place very like this one. Only that place had been much brighter- the world itself had been brighter, and more colorful, more full of goodness and promise and hope. And the man had been happy. All the same, even Benjamin Barker had sleepless nights. A future and a family give a man a great deal to think about, and sometimes his head was so full of dreams and plans and possibilities that he would slip silently from his bed (Lucy always slept soundly, no petty worries or foolish fears to trouble the thoughts of an angel) and travel down these cobblestone streets to a peaceful corner with an old oak tree and a bench to rest on. He would sit and lean his head back and gaze at the stars until he was swallowed up by the vast velvet darkness, and then his troubles would fade to nothing, as coldly distant as the pinpricks of light that dotted the sky.

"Mr. Todd!"

He looked up, jerked suddenly from his reverie. "Mrs. Lovett?" he inquired, startled by the familiar figure rushing towards him down the road.

She reached him and paused for a moment to smooth her skirts, which were wildly askew. Then she shoved a a black bundle under his nose, babbling breathlessly. "Forgot-- your coat-- Mr. Todd. Warm-- this morning, but-- chilly now. Catch your death."

He stared incredulously at this absurdity of a woman, unable to decide whether she was charmingly infuriating or infuriatingly charming. "How did you find me here?"

She spoke quickly. "Soon as I noticed you'd left your coat, I started after you. You'd a head start but I could still see you a ways off, walkin' all slow an' solitary-like. I ran the whole way." She smiled with shy pride at that, but the expression vanished quickly. She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers nervously. He had asked to be alone, after all.

She was relieved when a wry smile stole across his face and he shook his head, amazed. "Mrs. Lovett," he declared, "You're a bloody wonder. You know that?"

"So you've told me, Mr. T." There was a silence. It appeared there was nothing more to be said. "Well, there you go. I just wanted to make sure you'd be quite warm. I supposed I'll be heading back t'the shop now; it'll be a new day tomorrow and hungry bellies can't be kept waiting."

He stared after her. As she walked away he felt the sickening emptiness creeping back into his stomach. He hadn't noticed until now that it had gone away. "Wait!" She turned.

"What is it Mr. T?"

He swallowed. "Thank you. For the coat, I mean."

"Well, you're welcome, Mr. T. 'Twas nothing, really." She started down the street once more, leaving him alone again with the ghosts. He stared after her, desperately, hungry for the feel of something solid to anchor him in the present. He couldn't stand another moment of that gnawing discomfort, those terrible pictures that flickered behind his eyelids, those damned scenes that played over and over and over in his head, bathed in the garish light of memory and regret.

"Don't leave me!" he blurted despairingly. She spun around to stare at him, her eyes clouded with confusion. "I mean," he added hastily, "I'm not sure of the way back to Fleet Street from here..."

A slow smile of understanding crept across her face. "Of course I'll stay with you, Mr. Todd." He noticed, to his chagrin, that she really was beautiful when she smiled.

"Well, sit down then." He gave a small sigh of exasperation, expecting her to cozy up next to him. She surprised him by sitting a respectful distance away, hands clasped determinedly in her lap. Still, she was close enough that he could feel her shivering; it really had gotten colder now. "You ridiculous woman," he murmured. "You haven't even brought a coat for yourself." And he threw a reluctant arm around her and drew her trembling form close. She felt fragile, her slight frame pressed against him, her head nestled warmly in the hollow of his neck. Together, they gazed heavenwards, losing themselves in the inky infinite black.

"Pretty little buggers, ain't they?" Mrs. Lovett mused, with an expansive gesture towards the majestic canopy of stars. "Hm? Mr. Todd?"

But there was no reply, because Sweeney Todd had finally, finally drifted into a warm and dreamless sleep.

A/N: Fin! Comments? Criticisms? Oaths of undying loyalty? Leave a review! I don't like to beg, but... I'm basically a very lazy person, and reviews motivate me. And I'm thinking of trying my hand at a longer fic, so I'll need lots of motivation...


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